


Howling at the Moon

by cuntoid



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Creampie, Dirty Talk, F/M, Finger Sucking, Multiple Orgasms, Outdoor Sex, Rough Sex, Teasing, grumpy fuck, interrupted errand, the hound loves a hard fuck, very very very very light humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: The Hound always comes to you for quick company on errands; this time, he's a lot more tense.





	Howling at the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I was so utterly pleased to receive this commission request and I hope it serves its purpose well! Thank you darlin, this was incredibly fun for me to write! Thank you for letting me do this for you :)

The only sound for a long time is the low creak of the leather in his armor, followed closely by the metallic thud of his boots, his sword. It’s in his nature to be silent like this. Mindful. Always on alert and ready to go at a moment’s notice, fueled by some simmering thing deep in his being like a blight. His brow, perpetually drawn by both nature and his disposition, is knotted with some clear hostility today. His fondness for tolerating you on small errands such as this one is usually exciting, the chance to see a little into his life, into what he really gets up to, and you’ve been led to believe he finds amusement in it, in your perpetual wonder at his ‘mundane’ existence. This time he hasn’t so much as nodded to you since meeting you in the market and whisking you off, some food under his arm and the request for a shortcut toward the Riverlands. 

“Hey… you all right?”

The Hound grunts dismissively, sparing you the barest courtesy of even looking your way. His sourness leeches into the air, a miasma that permeates through your skin and eats into your own cheerful mood, and it irks you that he’s acting like such a insolent child. You stop in your tracks and watch him trudge forth several steps before he notices your absence. He turns, grim against the gorgeous, clouded sky, ominous, and you stare him down until he gestures impatiently at the beaten path.

Once you catch up to him, he scoffs. “Something twisting your knickers?”

A hundred crude responses fill your mind and spill over your tongue, bitten back only by the remaining shred of your will. This time, you give him the gift of his own medicine, treating him to a baited silence with your eyes trained forward.

He grabs your shoulder with one huge hand, stopping you with enough force to make you stumble over your own feet. He steadies you in the same gesture, towering easily a foot or more above you, the ball of your shoulder fitting easily into the curve of his palm. Now, he looks. Now, his eyes blaze at you like the fire he hates so much.

“Out with it, girl. The fuck you want from me?”

“I just wanted to _help_. You haven’t said a damn thing the entire way – ”

“Did it not occur to you that this was on purpose? Do I so owe you these things, my thoughts, my burdens?” He grabs your chin when your eyes shift away from his, jerking your focus back to him. “ _Oh, no_ , none of that. You want so badly into my business, do ya? Go on, little girl. Ask your fucking questions.”

“That’s not fair!”

“We ain’t talkin fairness, are we? Can’t tease a man and pull away the last minute – _go on_.”

“ _Sandor._ ”

His name leaves your lips low, poisonous. It gives him pause as he considers you again, jaw tightened perceptibly as the bright boil of hate slows back to a simmer. Still he rolls his eyes and curls his lip at you, in no mood to entertain your curiosity.

“Needn’t be concerning yourself with my affairs, I think. You want to be _useful?_ Hm? Be useful by keeping quiet and showing me to fucking Riverrun. The only use your pretty little mouth has doesn’t involve much _talking_.”

“You should be so lucky,” you spit, hate filling your spine like iron. Hate, and something _else_ , something even more sinister than that. A wayward tingle that fills you and reaches out in tendrils, in long, searching fingers that sneak under your ribs and quicken your pulse. “You’re vile.”

“ _Yeah?_ ” His frown melts slowly into a smirk, slanted in cruel glee, and he cocks his good brow. “ _Am_ I vile? _Look at you._ Flushed pink over it. You want my cock in your mouth, girl? That it?”

Whether he’s bluffing or not, blood rushes up underneath your skin and warms your throat, your ears, the apples of your cheeks. You burn with both resentment and disgust, that he should be so shamelessly forward. The most infuriating part is the truth, which pools molten in the cradle of your hips, begging to be stoked to the blaze you know he can handle. 

“Bite your tongue, _Hound._ ”

“Rather bite _yours_ , little lamb.” He scents the air as he leans down, nose skimming the delicate edge of your ear, his hot breath on your throat, and he inhales until it comes back out in a growled hum. There’s barely room between you to start with, but he makes the effort to close the space, radiating heat and naked, stark hunger. “Think I can’t smell your cunt every time we’re alone? I can see it in your eyes, wide and dumb with lust – am I getting _hotter?_ ” 

His derisive chuckle makes you shudder. His lips refuse to light on your skin and you refuse to admit to yourself that this is a necessity; loneliness is blind, after all, and you’re ready to jump directly into whatever seedy abyss seems to be parting before you, like a vision, like a fever-dream as he brings his thumb across your lips and brings his teeth to your throat. A desperate, high sound leaves you without your express bidding and this time you _feel_ his laugh rather than hear it, buried in the nape of your neck where he seals it against you with an open-mouthed kiss, saliva hot on your skin.

He stoops low until he can grab at the hem of your skirts, inching them higher, higher, until they’re rucked up around your thighs and his fingers press into your panties, tracing the slit of your cunt through the fabric. 

“ _Feels_ like I’m getting hotter. _Fuck_. Your poor little pussy burning up? This _starved_ for cock, are you?”

Who has ever spoken to you like this? It’s like something from a fantasy before you drift to sleep, something unspeakably sinful that electrifies you in late hours in bed with your own hand tucked between your thighs. And now he’s here, insistent and big as ever, pawing at you like you barely have a choice in the matter. His rough hands; that’s all you can think of as his thumb pushes between your lips with one hand and he yanks your panties down with the other. 

“Y’want me to ask nice, girlie?”

“ _No._ ”

“That’s what I thought… _lie down._ ”

“In the dirt…?”

In an instant, he twists two thick fingers into your pussy. As slick and eager as you are, the sudden breach inside of you is unexpected and the stretch stings, it throbs around his knuckles as he curls them into a place that laces the pain with stars, with pleasure that comes in rapid little bursts that match the scattered moans you breathe into his ear. 

“Fuck, oh _fuck_ –”

“You want to be a filthy little whore for me, and filthy... little... _whores_... do two things: they do what I ask of them, and they cum on my cock. Doesn’t that sound easy?”

He pulls you down, the absence of his fingers aching worse than the pain of receiving them as you wait for him to free his cock. He kneels between your spread thighs and stares down at your cunt, exposed and parted for him like a flower, like a delicacy. Like it’s his for the taking. The sight of you alone makes him draw a deep breath, chest filling before trembling on the exhale. He may not resemble a hound in the least, but he makes for a wonderful predator, shoulders undulating as he crawls the rest of the way over your prone form and tips his hips forward. 

The only generosity afforded you through his first thrust is the slowness with which he moves, driving into you inch by gentle inch until he’s somehow hilted within you. He puts a hand over your mouth and coos in your ear, dripping with ridicule. 

“Oh, _come on_ , darlin’ girl – been _craving_ it. _Mmh, fuck_ , hold still – you’re tight, _very_ fucking tight. Is this what you like? Being fucked into the ground by bigger, older men, hm? Should have used you before – if only I’d known. If only I’d known how _hungry_ you were for it, for a monster like me to fill you up.”

If there are comprehensible words leaving your mouth, trapped between your lips and the tight seal of his palm, you can’t make them out. You say his name, beg him, thank him, you whine like a bitch in heat. He takes on a pace that borderlines pain, your spine arching up underneath him as if your poor, overstimulated body can’t stand to have an inch of skin not pressing against him. You swivel and buck in your limited range of motion and ride against the pain of his size, swollen and thick and forcing into you with each vicious pound. The sound your bodies make in the quiet stretch of nothingness around you must echo pretty far; the thought of an innocent stranger in the distance hearing your wanton squealing is enough to make you clench your inner walls around his cock, squeezing him, earning yourself a rumbling growl that only serves to make you spasm all over again. 

“ _Easy,_ little bird. You love this. I can feel you, slut – I can feel you cum. Go on, then, _keep cumming for me_. Show me what a _good girl_ you can be. Bound to make a man very happy someday; you were made to be fucked like this, like my very own little toy.”

He tilts his hips and unleashes a vicious series of thrusts that makes you scream against his hand, thrashing under his massive body as he puts more of his weight on you, pinning you, fucking you open while you reach violent climax, the swell of his head rocking into a spot so sweet you could cry. He murmurs something in your ear and it could be anything – soothing little nothings, commands, death threats – none of it would make a difference in the midst of the explosively hot rush of ecstasy that races through every vein, that glows inside of you like divine light. How could this be wrong? He’s _right_ – he’s right about all of it, about how you’re already fantasizing about the next time he’ll do this to you as he pauses, flips you on your belly, and lifts your ass into the air so he can fuck you from behind.

The new position gives the both of you a slow hiss of approval as you suck air between your clenched teeth. It’s so much tighter this way, new nerves sparking in the dying tingle of your aftershocks. The Hound shoves his fingers into your mouth, the same fingers he’d had tucked deep inside your pussy before all this. They still faintly taste of you and he rolls his hips, needing barely a few strokes before digging his fingers into the fleshy curve of your hip with urgency, with the tension of someone about to burst. 

“That’s it, _fuck, there it is_ – bounce back on my cock, girl, _do it_. Do it, yeah, like _that_ – _come on, make me cum_ , make me cum _deep_ inside that tight little cunt,” he grunts, losing his rhythm as he swells even bigger. The telltale throb gives him away before his moaning does, the broken stutter of his hips as he holds you flush against his body and empties his balls inside of your twitching, sore cunt.

His fingers relax over your tongue and slide out with a pop. He uses much more care disconnecting your bodies, sliding out of you a moment later and steadying you so you can redress, pulling your panties back up with some guilty pleasure at the thought of his seed seeping out of you over the afternoon, the secret thrill of your damp underwear as you walk and go about your business. He sighs with clear satisfaction as you watch, furtively, pretending to busy yourself with your skirts while he arranges his own clothing.

Once put back together, you share a silent, unreadable stare with him until he clears his throat and nods in the direction of your destination, the barest hint of a smirk on his mouth. The marks of his teeth and the feeling of his lips on your flesh is still vibrantly alive. 

“Get _moving_ , girlie. We don’t have long.”


End file.
